Hylonomus
by Child of Loki
Summary: When a small prehistoric lizard escapes into the walls of the ARC, it leaves a trail of smut and fluff in its wake. A tale of relationships in three parts. Matt/Emily, Becker/Jess, Connor/Abby
1. Bothersome Creatures: Matt and Emily

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Primeval **_**or its characters… Which is probably a good thing for their sake.**

**Author's note: Yeah. Couldn't keep my hands off of them. Or, I couldn't let them keep their hands of each other? This should be a fun exploration of three ships in different stages. For some reason, I've been writing it along the guy's POV (3rd**** person, as usual, but limited). **

**Takes place…er… don't know (I still haven't watched series 5 yet, but it will be obvious this takes place at some point -in the future- when Emily is working at the ARC.)**

**First Up, Matt & Emily…**

**WARNING: SMUT! Nothing explicit or graphic (I don't think).**

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><p><em><strong>Part 1: Bothersome Creatures<strong>_

Upon entering the room, Matt Anderson had opened his mouth to issue a greeting, but the words died in his throat.

At first glance, the research laboratory had appeared vacant. This was quickly refuted as he simultaneously rounded the centrally-located, tall metal table and muffled curses reached his ears.

It was definitely what he saw that pushed every thought from his mind rather than the frustrated mumbling, however.

And what he saw was a bottom. A woman's bottom. And a fine one at that. Obviously firm and yet alluringly round.

He'd know that delicious rump anywhere, even without the distinctive riding boots below it.

Toned muscles shifted beneath denim that hugged curves like it was a second skin. There was a scraping noise as the bottom lunged forward and then jumped back with a yelp from its owner.

Emily was on her hands and knees, her head and shoulders disappeared behind a cabinet that had been pulled slightly away from the wall. She was obviously scrabbling about for something, perhaps dropped behind the cabinet. But why did it seem to be putting up so much resistance?

More importantly, he asked himself, _why did he care?_ For the bottom repeated its previous little dance of twitches and wiggles. And it gave him all kinds of ideas. None of which were to provide the woman with assistance. Well, immediate assistance, anyway.

Matt approached slowly, savouring the sight as if he hadn't run his hands all over that bottom on numerous previous occasions. Oh god, and the lace...

He barely contained the moan that threatened the back of his throat. The teal lace peaked out above the waist of the jeans, teasing Matt mercilessly. Why did it get to caress the creamy skin of her lower back visible as her shirt rode up, instead of him?

Well, he could remedy that...

"Emily?"

He crouched down beside her, laying a hand on that maddeningly shimmying bottom with the excuse of steadying himself.

Her reply was little more than a growl and if there had been words involved, they were entirely indistinguishable to Matt's distracted mind. He felt muscles shift beneath his hand as she turned to look at him over her shoulder, unwittingly attaining a 'sex kitten' pose that made Matt wish they were back in the flat instead of at the ARC. Because, oh, the things he would do to her...

"And what is it you think you're doing?" she asked.

Apparently, hands placed upon another person solely for support did not _squeeze_. For Emily had definitely called him on the groping. That did not mean the game was over, however.

"I thought I'd lend you a hand."

He blatantly goosed her. One would think it had been a complete stranger groping her, on a public street, in the middle of the day, for the hard look she gave him.

But he knew her better than that. There was a small twinkle in her eye despite the annoyance in her brow. She returned her attention to the dark recess behind the cabinet. When she spoke, it was in a whisper.

"If I were you, I would give considerable consideration to relocating that hand before I do so on your behalf."

Nah. She didn't really mean it.

Sometimes, it was difficult to discern. But Matt would like to think that he'd gotten the hang of it, of being able to tell when and how far he could push Emily. Of when she was receptive to playing, and when she was well and truly irate.

He relocated his hand to her waist. She probably hadn't meant that he should move it from cupping her bottom to caressing the smooth skin underneath her blouse. But what fun was there in doing as she asked?

Shifting onto his knees, he pulled at her waist, bringing her teasing bottom flush to his hip and leaning over her unnecessarily to whisper in her ear. It required no effort to conjure the husky, low voice that generally earned him a bit of lustful trembling on her part.

"What's giving you such a hard time?"

_Hard _was so the key word at the moment.

The warm skin under his hand turned to gooseflesh, and he fought not to smile as Emily sighed.

And she was still capable of surprising him. Before he knew what was happening, she'd had him flipped onto his back and was straddling his waist, her hands catching his before they could continue their urgent exploration of her body.

"I've been helping Abby to perform the monthly physicals on the creatures," Emily said. "The _hylonomus _specimen escaped."

"Behind the cabinet?" Matt supplied, fighting to concentrate on anything but the feel of her hips sliding over his.

This was ridiculous! They'd been living together for months. They had sex on a nightly basis, except for those long days that they barely managed to get their shoes off before they collapsed into bed, asleep before their heads even hit the pillows. He'd had Emily so many times, in as many ways he could ever think of, and some he'd never imagined but apparently she had. And they'd always maintained a professional distance while at work. That was, up until last week, when there was this untenable rise of sexual tension. The kind of tension that generally only arose between people who hadn't resolved their physical attraction, when everything was novel and mysterious and slowly building into a torturous lustful ache.

Emily huffed. Matt felt her exasperated movement in his groin. God, she was killing him. Just _killing_ him. _Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together. _They had an amazingly satisfying tryst in the shower that morning. And he'd gone years, literally _years_ before without sex. Why couldn't he even manage surviving a few hours without the need to bugger Emily overwhelming him?

"I think he's in the walls at present. I saw his malevolent, beady little eye peeking out at me."

She growled and lunged forward, as if to make another grab at the unfortunate prehistoric iguana-like lizard hiding in the wall behind his head. Luckily, she released his hands and he was able to grab her waist before she could fall fully on top of him and smother him with the soft fabric covering her appealingly smooth stomach.

She smelled good enough to eat.

_Oh, hell._

He rolled them so he was on top, careful to prop himself up. The less direct contact between them, the better. Because he was about a look or word or gyration away from breaking major rules and having sex with a coworker in the middle of a lab in the ARC.

Emily's cheeks were satisfyingly flushed. And her brown eyes were dark with want. Yet she somehow managed to compose herself, despite the quick squirm of her body beneath him. She licked her lips and he had to battle another groan from announcing his desperation. And then she adorned a mock admonishing look that wasn't entirely devoid of genuineness.

"I've had quite enough of bothersome creatures with a proclivity for penetrating tight spaces," she said.

Matt heard the growl escape his throat as he lost the little ground he had recovered towards self-control. Emily had a filthy mouth. Also, oddly enough, her ability and enjoyment of talking dirty had only debuted in their relationship rather recently. Her affinity for cursing had always been there, bolstered by the adoption of 21st century slang from her teammates. She was not so refined as her old title and 19th century origins would have one believe. But the innuendo, double entendres, and blatant sexual suggestions had appeared rather suddenly and profusely. And he wasn't complaining. Quite the contrary, he encouraged her.

"What would you do if you got your hands on one of these 'bothersome creatures'?"

"Not _if_." She held his gaze, jaw firm. "_When_ I get my hands on him."

"Sorry. _When_ you get your hands on him, what're you going to do?"

One of the hands in question had been resting flat against his chest. It began to wander down his front, in the few centimeters space between their bodies, towards one of the Bothersome Creatures she had alluded to.

"Are you asking me whether I'd be gentle or rough in my handling of him?"

Matt could only nod his head, for her hand had come to rest at his groin and all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. If he opened his mouth, he'd only groan, long and loud and pathetically needy. Her eyes were positively dancing with pleasure and she was visibly fighting the smile twitching the corner of her mouth. And her voice had taken on that low, flirtatiously breathy tone.

"Well, if he were to behave himself, I would caress him, stroke him. Maybe even give him a kiss."

She was trying to break him, the demon. Her fingers danced over his jeans, her palm pressing firmly against him. The Bothersome Creature pressed firmly back. The breath caught in his throat as she wet her lips again before she continued verbally torturing him.

"But if he were _naughty_..."

Emily shouldn't be allowed to use that word. It was pure sex on her lips. And it forever would be so in his mind, no matter what context she used it in the future. He would only see the way her moist lips formed the syllables, the unmitigated desire in her eyes. Only feel the way her hand cupped his throbbing creature.

"...I would _squeeze_ him until he cried out."

On the word _squeeze_, she demonstrated quite aptly her intentions despite the taut fabric barring her from unhindered access. Matt did not bother to fight the groan that started deep in his throat and rumbled through his chest. It was useless. Emily had him. His arms and legs had gone a bit wobbly, and he let himself collapse against her soft, warm body. She had let him fall between her thighs, taking him in the cradle of her hips. He was so close to port, it hurt. Bloody stupid clothing.

"You're evil," he whispered in Emily's ear before exposing her shoulder and running his tongue over the sensitive skin.

"But delicious." He bit down ever so slightly.

She gasped, arched slightly beneath him (which was highly distracting), and her legs moved up to his waist. Her right leg continued to climb, which dredged up interesting memories, but they were only briefly considered, because her hand still at his crotch was threatening to finish him in an embarrassingly rapid fashion while he was still entirely clothed. And then her riding boot was firmly placed against his chest, and he was being thrust off from her.

He grunted as he rolled onto his back, hitting the floor a little heavily while Emily sprung to her feet beside him. What was with women? One moment they were fervently seducing you and the next, they were all business, telling you in a calm voice that they needed to track down a fugitive prehistoric lizard.

The proper thing would be to let her go.

Matt Anderson was _not_ in a proper mood.

It was low, but there was a trick he could pull on Emily that would force her to finish what she had started. Okay. What _he_ had started but she had oh, _so _vehemently perpetuated. He caught her hand as it reached for the door and somewhat roughly pulled her to the side, pushing her bodily into the wall, crushing her breasts into the hard surface and his hips into her arse. He grabbed her other hand and pinned it beside the first above her head. He was breathing as hard as her when he pressed further into her and she moaned.

"There's a Bothersome Creature that needs taking care of right here," he growled into her ear.

The maneuver never failed. He had discovered the kink a couple months ago. Personally, he enjoyed sexual positions that allowed him to see the expressions on her face, the look of unadulterated need, of pleased surprise and sometimes discomfort when he thrust into her, of ecstasy when she orgasmed... But for some reason, Emily became instantaneously and intensely aroused under the threat of being taken from behind. And if she had been wearing a skirt, he probably would've done so right there and then, gripping her hips, groaning into the back of her neck, causing her nails to leave gouges in the unyielding wall.

She spoke his name in a tremulous drawl as he kissed her neck.

"Now," she said.

And it was all the invitation he needed. Except, it couldn't be quick and easy. Well, he had to admit that once he was inside of her, it'd probably be rather quick despite his best efforts. And given how she was trembling against him, she was ready to take him. So it'd probably be easy, too. Getting to that point, however, would be painfully slow and problematic. It was all those bloody tight jeans' fault. They would've never been pushed to the edge of bursting if it weren't for the way that fabric hugged her fit bottom and teased him. And now he had to step away from Emily for long enough to relieve her of them. And the lace underthings...

And this was _not_ an appropriate venue to strip one's girlfriend naked from the waist down and 'roger her brains out' as she was currently pleading with him to do. Not, at least, while that camera watched indifferently from the corner where two walls met the ceiling.

"Matt?" She sounded so pathetically desperate that he felt brief guilt over his actions, but the voracious creature in his trousers trumped the finer feelings he generally held for Emily.

"Not here," he said. Her face fell, until he pointed to the camera's unwavering gaze. And then she smiled in a way that told him the next half hour would probably be the best of his life. "There's a blind spot over there."

He led her to the corner, pushed her back to the wall and she proceeded to take very good care of his Bothersome Creature.

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><p><strong>AN: Next… Becker & Jess**


	2. Legs Up To There: Becker and Jess

**Author's Note: I probably shouldn't write Becker/Jess. I never seem to really feel them, and so many other people write them, and write them well. At any rate, this might be enjoyable anyway, if a little OOC.**

**Emily and Matt were obviously in the nymphomania stage of their relationship. Becker & Jess are in the pre-ship sexual tension phase… on the edge of more…**

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><p><em><strong>Part 2: Legs Up To There<strong>_

Legs Up To There.

Becker had always believed it was just a saying. An urban legend. An ideal. A male fantasy. Like 36-26-36. What did a woman's precise measurements matter, if she had alluring curves in one manifestation or another. Women came in all shaped and sizes. And as long as his hands could get a good hold of their waists and their thighs cradled his hips just so, what did he care for 36-26-36? Or Legs Up To There?

No. Lips were decidedly more important. A nice, kissable pair. None of that overly plump Angelina Jolie shit that left you wondering where their mouth had disappeared to under all that mushy flesh. Or made you think that perhaps she was already giving you tongue, but really it was just those frighteningly profuse lips. He didn't like too thin, either, for that matter. He needed a little something to run his tongue over, to nibble on. But lips could be set aside, too. What really got him (though he'd never openly admit to it because then he'd sound like on of those _sensitive_ blokes) were eyes. Big, round eyes that said all the right things could turn him on with a single look. If her eyes said it all, a woman didn't even have to open her mouth (until he stuck his tongue in). He was a man of few words. And he required less. She could come quietly, silently or screaming. He didn't care as long as he had a nice pair of lips to kiss, gorgeous eyes in which to lose himself, and a firm hold of whatever curves she had. Of course, there were those with _nontraditional_ tastes. And he supposed he required even less then...

Legs, however, were never really a factor in his sexual equations. No question, they felt nice wrapped about his waist. And sometimes it required a moment's thought and awkwardness to compensate for their difference in length to his own. But beyond that, he wasn't sure he even gave them as much thought as most men did. Assuredly, he had never pursued that fabled Long-legged Woman.

In his experience, there was no such thing. The closest he'd ever found to a woman with Legs Up To There were of the fashion model variety.

Becker did not like models.

He'd encountered a couple before, and both had validated his assumption that there was not much going on upstairs. But _who _could think straight on less than 500 calories a day? And they were not sexy, besides. Not even remotely attractive. He supposed if you preferred the straight line figure of prepubescent boys and little girls (which would indicate a rather terrible mental dysfunction or a strange obsession with Keira Knightley, or both) to the feminine curves of a woman, there might be some appeal. He did have to concede, though, that their legs did seem to go Up To There. If you could call those brittle twigs 'legs.'

Presently, he had to consider the possibility that perspective had biased him against believing in such a concept as Legs Up To There. It'd be appropriate to say 95% of women Becker encountered were _significantly _shorter than his 1.9 meters. Enough height difference, that always looking down to address a woman probably put her legs at a disadvantage, as far as calculations of length were concerned.

Point in case: The long, shapely legs currently before him.

He had always put Jessica Parker down as possessing a considerable amount of leg. But mainly, he had thought this as a result of the incredibly short skirts and dresses she wore, in combination with the extra few inches the heels added.

However, from this new perspective, Becker was made a believer. Not only did Legs Up To There exist, they were A Gift from God.

Jess was standing on her chair, hands clutching the back for support. Her eyes seemed to be frantically scanning the floor. She was worrying her lower lip. And her legs... They. Went. Up. To. There.

Bright purple espadrilles (God, he shouldn't know the specific name for a style of women's shoes. _Bloody sisters tricking him into taking them shopping..._) drew the eye from where the hem of the lime green skirt flitted about her thigh, down the entire length of _those legs _to the apple green polish on her petite toes. And they were real legs, not twigs. They had some shape, some muscle.

Self-control hadn't been an issue for him in such a long time, and never had been for _Captain_ Becker. Yet, it took considerable effort to not only tear his gaze away from the Legs Up To There, but keep his hand from tracing the length of their sinuous lines.

Thankfully, Jess had been occupied by whatever strange thing she was currently involved in, and the control room was otherwise vacant. So Becker felt it safe to assume no one had caught him ogling their ops specialist's shapely legs.

"What is going on, Jess?" he asked. She started at the sound of his voice in the otherwise quiet room. The whole body flinch manifested in the most interesting twitch of thigh and calf muscle. _Focus, soldier!_

"Becker, thank god you're here," she said, looking a bit relieved yet still frightened. She chewed her bottom lip again. It belonged to rather a shapely mouth, too, now that he considered it. "You can catch it, right?"

"Catch what?"

If he had been thinking with his brain instead of with less useful but arguably much more fun organs, he would've realized earlier that Jess' behavior was the precise cliche for 'woman sees a mouse and freaks out.'

"There was a... a..." She tried to make a hand gesture to aide the description, wobbled on her precarious perch, and grabbed the back rest once more. Her big, round eyes pleaded with him for help.

"Mouse?"

"No! Not a mouse." Her expression turned indignant. "I am _not_ afraid of harmless little rodents, thank you very much.

"It was a dinosaur."

Becker made a show of looking about the notably vacant room.

"I don't see any T-rex, herds of stegosaurus... pteranodons..."

She glared and he fought the chuckle. It was fun to take the piss out of Jess, if only because of her perpetually unflappable amiability. She was so 'the girl next door' that she had endeared herself to him from the very start (not that he'd admit it to anyone). But he had never thought of her as the next door neighbor's hot daughter that you'd spy on when she changed with her blinds open. No, Jess was of the 'my kid sister's best friend' variety. It was a little bit jarring to look at her one day with the blatant realization that she was an attractive woman. It was enough to give a guy a brain hemorrhage.

Oh, he knew she was cute, and sweet, and capable of conjuring a great deal of strength despite her fears. Deep down, he even knew he was attracted to her. But that's where that attraction had been caged. Unfortunately, just like whatever 'dinosaur' had frightened her, it had just broken loose. And Becker felt like jumping up on a chair and out of its path until he was sure it had passed. Because, oh god, Those Legs Went Up To There.

"It _was_ a creature. A small, green lizard," she said, snapping him out of his inappropriate thoughts. "And no, it was _not_ Rex.

"Rex glides and hovers and chirps. This thing _skittered _about. And quietly. It snuck right up on me." She shuddered. "Its tail brushed my leg."

This time, Becker made a real go of checking about the hub for said 'Small, green lizard; Not Rex.' When he had made an entire, fruitless, round of the perimeter, he came back to stand beside Jess' long legs.

"All clear," he said. Jess gave him a doubtful look.

"Promise. Not a creature in sight."

Her look turned to an admonishing one, accusing him of placating her and not taking her seriously. She made the mistake of crossing her arms across her chest, which caused her to lose her tenuous balance on the chair. Thankfully, his reflexes were tested on a daily basis and he hadn't gone soft like many soldiers in domestic postings. His hands caught her waist and steadied her. And it felt... _good_. God help him, she fit perfectly into his grasp. He could feel the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. She was warm, simultaneously soft and firm, and _perfect_.

He didn't groan. Groaning would've been bad. But it had been a while since he'd had his hands on a woman's waist. If he pinpointed the precise date, he would've probably discovered it had been a little before he'd met one Jessica Parker. And that he hadn't done so much looking for companionship after the acquaintance had been made, either. That, however, was something _not _to consider at the moment.

"You can let go now," Jess said. She was fighting a sage smile from spreading across her lips. Which was not at all right. _She_ was the one always blushing, always out-of-sorts when they had their little... whatever they were. But he could even it out.

He left his hands right where they were.

"We'd better get you down from there before you fall and hurt yourself."

"Really, I'm not an infant," she said. "I can manage myself."

Part of Becker was extremely intrigued by the idea, contemplating how she'd manage to climb down off the chair in those high shoes and that _short_ dress. Or more accurately, what might be revealed when she made the attempt. Sexy lace, boyshorts, thong, or cutsie little girl underwear?

He ignored her protest, stepping in closer. Strength-wise, it'd be easier to lift her standing closer. But that wasn't strictly necessary. He'd picked her up before. There was hardly anything to her, except apparently, Legs Up To There. He could've lifted her from his position a few steps back, but then he wouldn't get to see that fetching blush spread across her pale cheeks when he stepped in close and she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Lifting her off the chair, he took a step back, but didn't immediately put her down. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowered her. Her perfume was subtly intoxicating. The heat radiated off from her like she was on fire. And he let the front of her brush against him as he lowered her to the floor.

_Definitely a bad idea, soldier!_

He stifled another groan as the tips of her breasts touched his chest. Their peaks were hard from the contact and he could feel them straining through the soft cotton of her dress, the thin layer of his black t-shirt. Part of him wished he'd just come in from the field and was wearing his flak vest. Most of him reveled in the fact he hadn't.

Finally her feet touched the floor, and he looked down into her big eyes, grown even wider with shock. Her cheeks were the pinkest he'd ever seen them. And he couldn't help but feel that he'd done something very bad.

He let go of her waist, and stepped back. They stood silently, just staring at one another. Should he apologize? That would be admitting he'd done something. And he hadn't, had he? He'd just helped a coworker out from a bit of trouble.

Yeah, right. And a G-Rex was just a velociraptor's cousin.

He'd just crossed a line.

Perhaps, she hadn't noticed...

"Thanks." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, looking away.

"You're welcome," he said. _Awkward. _"I'll let Abby know one of her wards has escaped the menagerie."

He turned to leave, mentally berating himself for the weak moment, for salivating over Jess like she were a particularly fine cut of meat, for taking advantage of her vulnerability, for gleaning such a cheap feel off from her, for endangering their friendship. A sharp yell cut through his contemplation of feminine curves and the consequences of falling prey to their seductive allure. He whipped around to find Jess stood upon her chair once more.

"I think I saw it again," she said. There was no alarm on her face this time. In fact, she was smiling in the most flirtatious manner he'd ever seen her adorn. Oh, she had most definitely noticed he'd crossed the line. Not only that, she was inviting him to stay there. Perhaps, all of her shy blushes and awkward rambling had only been a result of her uncertainty, that he kept his feelings so close, so hidden from her. She seemed more confident now, now that he had blatantly revealed not only his affection (which had been leaking for some time) but his physical attraction to her.

His eyes took a slow journey of exploration over her body and when they landed back upon her face, she was giving him an innocent look that he did not buy for an instant.

"I definitely see something dangerous," he said. "But no small, green lizards."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive."

"Then could you lend me a hand again?"

Becker smiled as he did precisely that. Only this time, he did not restrain his hands to her waist. They ran up the back of her thighs as he set her down upon the floor, discovering precisely how far her legs went, and he leaned in for a taste of those perfectly shaped lips.

Yes, he could become a great admirer of Legs Up To There.

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><p><strong>AN: If you haven't noticed, I seem to be building in reverse… starting with the smut and working towards the fluff. **

**Lastly, the ever-adorable Abby & Connor…**


	3. Mothering Instinct: Connor & Abby

**Author's Note: Wow. This should not have taken so long to finish up. Especially since it was already complete in my head. The actual writing it down took a while to get around to. **

**Some Abby & Connor (hopefully) adorableness…**

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><p><em><strong>Part 3: Mothering Instinct<strong>_

"Just think about it Abbs. Warm, white beaches stretching as far as the eye can see. The vast blue expanse of an inland sea. A fresh, tropical breeze that flirts with your gown and teases locks of your hair becomingly about your face. The sun-

Abigail Maitland, soon to be Abigail Temple, snorted.

"Since when have you waxed so poetic?" she asked.

Connor smiled broadly. _Since you said you loved me, Abby_.

"Don't say it," she said, as if she could read the cheesy thought on his mind. She smiled nonetheless.

"Seriously, you have to admit it would be the best 'destination wedding' ever."

"We are _not_ getting married in the Silurian, Connor."

He studied his future bride. It sounded like she had put her foot down. Yet her thoughtful look belied the stern statement. If she went for- ha! The lip bite. Abby hadn't dismissed the idea altogether. Then she made the mistake of glancing in his direction, their eyes meeting and she sighed, obviously knowing she was caught.

"It's too dangerous," she said. "What if the anomaly closes?"

Having the shared experience of being stuck millions of years in the past, they both shuddered. To be honest, however, Connor could not wholly regret it when the long, hard year had developed a bond between them that was virtually unknown in modern times.

"Then we'll just have to find another perfect, untouched prehistoric beach."

She glared.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

He knew what she meant. Just, this was important to him for some reason. Okay, he knew the reason. He wanted Abby to have her special day, _their day_. For once, he wanted her to entirely free her feminine side. Granted, _survivor_ and _warrior_ was part of her identity and he loved her tough side every bit as much as the rest of her. But she deserved to be treated as a princess for a day. Hell, she deserved to be loved and pampered every single day of her life. And he would do his bloody best to make it so. But this, this just _felt_ _right_.

The way she had looked so contented as they stood on that beach...

Okay, perhaps it was for selfish reasons. He wanted her to look that way when she married him.

It was obvious she remembered the serenity and beauty of that place, that stolen moment. Or else she never would've bothered to listen to so much of his speech. It was similar to the one he gave her when he convinced her to sneak with him through the anomaly like naughty teenagers through a bedroom window. Thankfully, Becker had been sent to help Emily and Matt with a creature incursion, and there was no one but their own consciences to object to their little investigative excursion. He had assured her then, that the adjustment to the handy Dating Calculator yielded conclusive results. The anomaly would stay open for another seven months. That still gave him about four more months to convince her.

"You don't trust my Dating Calculator?" he asked, trying to pinpoint the source of her uncertainty. It wasn't that they wouldn't be able to have the wedding party they wanted, due to the Official Secrets Act. Besides her brother Jack, who already well knew about anomalies, they neither had family. Those they wanted present at their wedding were their close friends, people who were practically family. And those friends were, well, also their coworkers. But he couldn't see how it was fear of the anomaly closing upon them, either. His device had been proven reliable dozens of times.

"Of course I trust your work," Abby said. "You'll never convince Lester, though, at any rate."

Connor suppressed the overwhelming urge to do a happy dance. She liked the idea. He knew it! She was going to be so damn beautiful on that beach, on that day, _his wife_!

She was smiling in that knowing way, as if she could read his mind, which she probably could. And while said smile was filled with amusement, it at least was not saturated with condescension or annoyance. She must truly love him, nerdtastic tendencies and all.

"Oh, I think underneath it all, Lester-"

"Oi, what're you doing here?" Abby asked. Connor furrowed his brow. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on a point somewhere behind him. He turned slowly around.

Nothing.

He looked down.

A small, green lizard approximately 20 centimetres in length, vaguely iguana-like. And adorning a rather smug expression for a reptile, the likes of which he had only ever seen on a certain anthropomorphized flying lizard. It blinked a black, beady eye.

"I've got him," Connor said, crouching down with his hands spread wide to corral the prehistoric lizard. It skittered one way only to be hindered by a hand, and then skittered futilely in another direction. This continued for several seconds before Connor jumped up with a loud exclamation.

"It bit me," he said, sucking on a finger. Abby raised an eyebrow at him.

"May I?" she asked before bending down and reaching out a hand to the lizard. She made a sort of clicking noise in the back of her throat and the belligerent creature hopped up into her arms without hesitation.

"I thought Emily was supposed to be taking care of you," she said to the lizard cradled in her arms. Connor moved warily closer for a better look.

"One of the Hylonomous specimens," he said. "Late Carboniferous." He winced. "Sharp teeth."

Abby sighed.

"Let me see."

Shifting the prehistoric lizard to cradle against her chest, she freed a hand to examine Connor's injury. She frowned as she saw the blood well from the small puncture and dragged him by the finger to the sink where she deftly cleansed the wound. Connor could only watch in admiration as she proceeded to dress the injury one-handed, in a manner far more competent than he could've managed with both hands. And all the while, the problematic reptile held firmly and tenderly in one arm. Had it fallen asleep? At the very least, it appeared to be extremely contented in Abby's embrace. Something Connor could not fault the little lizard for feeling.

"You'll be a great mother," he said. And that was all he said. He didn't stumble or try to take it back, or feel awkward in any way. Even a few months ago, it would've been an uncomfortable statement to make. Another case of his big, dumb mouth. But not now, now that they'd finally put all their cards on the table. They were getting married, going to spend the rest of their lives together. Someday, there would be children. And Abby was going to be so good at it. Possibly enough to make up for his faults and missteps.

He smiled at her and she beamed back at him.

Connor leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. He couldn't believe his luck in finding a girl like Abby, let alone that she loved him even a fraction as much as he adored her. He reached his arms around her to pull her closer.

There was an odd squeak that briefly confused him.

"I don't think Harry is appreciating the hug," Abby said.

Oh, right. Stray prehistoric lizard. He stepped back.

"Harry the Hylonomous?" Connor asked. Abby shrugged. "We must be spending too much time together, because that sounds like something I'd choose."

Abby laughed. Harry squirmed a little, drawing her attention.

"We had better get you back to your friends before you cause more trouble," she told the lizard.

"Who knows what you've already stirred up."

END

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope I did the ever-so-cute Abby & Connor justice. **


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